Breaking Through
by Mysterious Me
Summary: Bah, if you must know, this is one of my fluff fics. It has no beginning, not much of an end, and you never find out who the female character is. Basically, I wrote this for myself. Begone. But, if you must read it, the main character is Micah. Thank


I stared at the children in the cornfield, then trailed my eyes over to Micah. I struggled against my bonds on the corn.  
"Micah, don't do this. You can't do this. Please, Micah--"  
"Silence!" He whirled, shaking the scythe at me. "He Who Walks Behind The Rows will not accept this!" I shook my head, looking in his eyes. They were so dark...  
"Micah, He Who Walks Behind The Rows isn't real! It's the corn, it's hurting you--"  
_"No!" _ Micah turned and hacked down the stalk nearest me. I winced at the sound it made. He pointed at the fallen corn, then pushed his face close to mine. "You will be silent. You--" There was a rustle in the corn, making him stop midsentence. Micah snapped his head up, pointing behind me. "Go! After them!" Armed with weapons, the Children hurried off through the corn, leaving me and Micah alone.  
  
I gazed at him desperately, staying perfectly still.  
"Micah, please..."  
"No." He shoved his face closer to mine, close enough to brush noses. His teeth were gritted. "We. Shall. Not. Be. Denied." I chewed my lower lip worriedly.  
"Please. Don't do this." Nearly out of hope, I nuzzled my nose against his. Micah jerked back a little, but didn't allow me much more room.  
"He Who Walks--"  
"Screw He Who Walks Behind The Rows," I hissed. He drew back sharply like I'd just slapped him, then pushed his face towards mine again.  
"You are not to defile his name," he whispered, strands of black hair falling in his face. His eyes were so dark, so very very dark...  
"Micah..." I nudged his face with my nose, then very gently pressed my lips against his. Surprisingly, he didn't pull away at all. Micah kissed hard and fast, his free hand going to my shoulder--for a better grip, I guess. After what seemed an eternity, he pulled away just enough to whisper in my ear.  
"This is a sin..."  
"And if we're gonna sin," I murmured, lightly nuzzling against his cheek, "we may as well sin most vigorously." He paused, then shook his head. All the while, Micah was moving closer to me, his scythe hand a good distance away.  
"We mustn't defile the fields," he whispered, the breath warm in my ear. "We mustn't."  
"Untie me." I rubbed my cheek against his neck, laying light kisses along the way. "Untie me, Micah. Please." There was a slight pause, then he drew away slowly. I stared desperately at him, looking for a glimmer of life in those black eyes. He rose the scythe, making my breath catch in my throat.  
"And thou shalt suffer the children to come unto me..." The scythe came slicing down. I screamed, and I know it was clear and loud. And then the blade cut through my ropes, sending me to the ground with the new freedom. The scythe fell to the corn-littered ground too, but I was caught by two slender hands. Micah.  
  
I wrapped my arms around his neck tightly, but I did feel his face being buried into my shoulder. He was just as frightened as me.  
"Sh, Micah, sh..." I loosened my grip a little, freeing my hands to run them through his dark hair. "I love you, I love you..."  
"I mustn't be weak," he whispered, turning his head to move closer to my neck. "Weakness will be punished."  
"You don't have to be weak to love," I murmured into his ear.  
"Yes, yes, it is a weakness." Micah looked up, tears glistening in his eyes. "He Who Walks Behind The Rows will punish me. He will bring his wrath--"  
"No, because He is not real. He is not real, and He cannot hurt you." I took his face in my hands, touching our noses together lightly. "But I _am_," I whispered as my thumbs stroked his cheekbones. "I'm real." Micah hesitated, then pushed forward and gave me another hard kiss. He pulled away before I could react, drawing me close.  
"We'll hide," he said quietly, holding me as if he would lose me, "We'll hide. He can't find us. They won't find us. Not if I tell them not to."  
  
The cornfield far behind, Micah and I slipped silently into the old shack. I closed the door behind us.  
"You can't be afraid," I said softly, watching Micah's back. I approached him, sliding my hands up his shoulders and around to his chest. "Not forever."  
"I try. I try to be brave." He bent his head to rub his cheek against my hand.  
"That's all I ask." Slowly, carefully, I lowered my own head and pressed my lips to his neck. Micah grasped my hand firmly, lacing his fingers with mine.  
"They cannot know. They cannot." I paused, then gave his neck another tender kiss.  
"And they won't. If it means that much to you, they will not find out." He gently laced his fingers with my other hand, pressing a kiss to my fingertip.  
"We must not, we must not... He will bring His wrath upon us, and it will be swift and merciless--" Micah kissed my next fingertip, all the while murmuring his protest. I wasn't exactly making him do this.  
"Micah," I whispered. Black eyes flicked up to me from the third fingertip.  
"Mm?" The wind howled outside, long and low. I swallowed nervously. Then I put one hand on his chest and grasped his black shirt, pulling him down to the ground.  
"Silence. Kiss me."  
  
Micah pulled me close, one hand running through my hair.  
"Yes. Silence." He kissed my throat tenderly, slipping his other hand down to my waist. This was the leader, one of the Children of the Corn, follower of He Who Walks Behind the Rows, the one who was so close to slicing me open. This boy, the boy who had spoken as if he were from another world, the boy who was so very gently kissing my neck. The boy whose name I was murmuring.  
"Micah," I whispered, fingers lingering in his hair. "Micah, Micah, what if they come? What will they do?" He glanced up from my neck, inhaling deeply through his nose. Micah pressed his forehead to mine, strands of hair tickling my face.  
"You told me we cannot always be afraid. And I will not. If I am to die at the hands of my own, then I go freely--so long as I am with you." And then he was done; he pressed his lips firmly to mine. The kiss held fear, pride, sorrow, anger... everything he needed to be rid of. I kissed back just as hard, ready to face my fate.  
"If I am to die tonight," I murmured, sliding my hands over the buttons of his black shirt. My fingers began unfastening the tiny pearls. "Then I'm going to get my kicks first." I unbuttoned his shirt halfway, just enough to slip my fingers in and brush the pale skin. Micah gazed up at me with dark eyes, looking unbelievably innocent. I hesitated, biting my lip. "I'm sorry. You don't want--"  
"Do not tell me what I want and what I do not." He unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way, discarding it like a rag. Then he was still again, looking up at me, waiting. I paused, then nestled against him quietly. My fingers ran over his pale chest, just barely kneading the tense muscles. Micah wrapped an arm around me and didn't say a word. I continued silently, working my fingertips in tiny circles over his stomach. A hand went up to gently knead the back of his neck while the other drew light designs over his skin. Micah buried his nose in my hair with a quiet sigh, closing off the dark gaze from the world.  
"I love," he whispered to my hair, adding a light kiss for effect. It wasn't "I love you", but it was just as beautiful and just as sincere. Maybe more pure.  
"I love too, Micah," I said quietly, "I love too." The wind screamed at the door, but we didn't pay attention. I pressed my lips to his chest in a soft kiss, then closed my eyes. The wind was getting louder. My arms were flung around his neck as I buried my face in his chest. "He can't get us. He won't."  
"You're right. He won't." I looked up to Micah, who was gazing at me with those black eyes.  
"Micah?" He brushed back a few errant strands of my hair and pressed a kiss to my forehead.  
"He cannot leave the cornfield. Only we, his Children, may leave the cornfield." He lowered his head to whisper in my ear. "And I, the Chosen, will not be punished by his Children. I will be forgiven by them, or perhaps ignored. But it is said that the Chosen will walk a different path."  
"Well," I murmured, sliding a hand through his hair, "I like this path you're walking."  
"We," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the lobe of my ear. "The path we're walking." And talk was through. Micah moved back to my lips, kissing and carressing and stroking. I held him tightly, ignoring the wind, ready to face the Children and He Who Walks Behind The Rows. After Micah, I could face anything.  
  



End file.
